Emma looked at the clock on her bedside table again: 5:33 a.m. She figured that was close enough. There was no way sleep was coming at this point, so she gave up. She leaned over and kissed Hope, still next to her in bed and still in a deep, deep sleep. Then she got up to face the day.
She went to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and sat down at the table to wait for it to brew.
As she waited, she pondered where the hell she had gone wrong.
Daddy. Hope, a three-and-a-half year-old child who had never known her father had referred to a man they had met less than two weeks ago as "Daddy."
Emma started to take stock of the reasons why this had happened.
Hope was old enough to look around at her classmates' families and notice that many of them had dads or more than one mom who sometimes picked them up or dropped them off. Hope had asked once or twice why she didn't have a dad or another mom, and Emma had mumbled an explanation that not everyone did, and that she loved her and Henry enough for two parents. Hope had always seemed satisfied with that response, indulging Emma with a big bear hug and saying that she loved her too.
But maybe Hope still thought something was missing.
Emma didn't date. After her experience with Walsh, she was so bitter, disgusted, and just plain busy, that she hadn't made any effort to meet anyone. She didn't have room in her life for dating, so Hope had never seen her mom with any kind of person that she'd identify as a potential partner, until now.
Then, there was Killian himself. He was just so damn good with Hope. He was kind and sweet, but not condescending in the way that so many adults were to children her age. Hope was smart and imaginative, and the way Killian interacted with her showed that he recognized and respected that. He was just a natural with her, and of course Hope had responded to it.
Emma also had come to terms with the fact that she herself liked Killian. She liked him a lot, actually.
She considered herself to be a pretty jaded person, especially when it came to men, but this guy was gorgeous and funny and nice and made her heart skip several beats whenever he smiled back at her a certain way. Plus, there was a sadness to him. She perceived in him a world-weariness to which she related, and her intuition told her that being with her and the kids brought out a lightness in him that was usually buried deep inside.
He hadn't gotten a chance to tell her his sad story, but she knew that he had one, just like she did. It made her feel like he understood her in a very real way, and now that she'd had a taste of being with him, she craved more.
Hope was a perceptive kid. Emma had no doubt that she had picked up on her mom's reaction to Killian.
So, Emma reasoned, the burgeoning awareness that most kids had more than one parent, PLUS the presence of this kind and charming man who had immediately connected with each member of her family had clearly combined to make Hope view Killian as a father figure.
It made perfectly rational sense.
Except that something still nagged at Emma. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that there was more to it than her simple amateur psychologist's rationalization.
It still bothered her that Hope's surprising question about Killian had coincided with her worst bout of nightmares ever, and that was another set of worries that Emma needed to explore.
She returned to the coffee maker, where her pot was now complete, poured a cup, and then settled back down on the couch with her phone to research preschoolers and nightmares.
What she learned mostly comforted her. Nightmares were common, especially among children Hope's age, because kids' imaginations developed rapidly during this time. Also, it was normal that she'd start to be able to describe them in detail, even though she often wouldn't want to.
What Emma learned that bothered her, however, was that nightmares in young children could also be triggered by stress, such as a new school, a new home, or their parents' divorce. This information created a gut-churning stew of guilt and worry inside of her.
She considered the changes in their lives over the past several months. Emma's memory was fuzzy, but everything had been so hectic that she wasn't surprised that her sense of time and events had started to blur.
They had moved during the summer to this new apartment. This address allowed her to send Henry to the better public school he went to now. Plus, this building owner's daughter, who managed the rentals, had been willing to take an extra month's rent up front in lieu of a formal credit check (Emma's credit wasn't great, but she did have a little bit of cash saved.)
Emma had also changed jobs in the past month. The money was much better than it had been at her previous gig, but she was out of the house more at night on stakeouts. Maybe that was bothering Hope more than Emma had realized.
Through all of it, her kids had both seemed to be adjusting fine. Henry had no doubt experienced enough upheaval in his life that he was used to it, and for the most part, he rolled with the changes.
But perhaps she had taken her daughter's flexibility for granted. Maybe she needed to slow everything down and let Hope catch up.
She sighed as she realized that she was going to have to cancel her date (because come on, that's what it was) with Killian tomorrow night. How was she going to explain it to him? He deserved honesty from her, but she knew that she couldn't go so far as to explain what Hope had said about him last night; what she'd called him.
However, she could tell him her worries about Hope's nightmares, and that all the stress and changes in her life recently were the cause. He would understand.
Still, the whole situation made Emma sad and very, very lonely. She'd been right on the cusp of being able to spend time with another adult with whom she really connected, and now she was thinking about giving that up.
She knew herself well enough to know that her usual reaction to problems, especially highly emotional ones, was to build up her own walls and just shut out whatever was causing the pain. She supposed that she did the same thing for her children, keeping the three of them safe in their own little fortress of love and trust. Because if it was just them, nobody else had the power to hurt them.
Usually, that plan made sense to her.
This time, however, the thought of building up a wall to shut out Killian filled her with grief.
As the clock ticked towards her usual 6:30 wakeup time, she heard small feet padding towards her from the direction of her room and looked up to see a very groggy and rumpled Hope entering the living room.
"Hi, Mom," she mumbled, as she climbed into Emma's lap (Emma hurriedly set her hot coffee down on the table in front of her before the snuggly little girl could jostle it.) She put her arms around her daughter and held her close, nuzzling her still-downy soft hair and relishing the feel of her warm skin and steady breathing.
"Hi, little lovey," Emma said. "How did you sleep?" She wasn't expecting more than the usual "okaaaaay."
Instead, Hope replied, "I had bad dreams (dweams.)"
"Oh no, I'm so sorry. Do you remember what they were about?"
Hope sighed. "I guess so, but I don't want to talk about it right now."
Emma was frustrated, but held her tongue. She knew that there was no point in pushing a child when they didn't want to talk about something. Hope would only get more and more stubborn about keeping quiet.
Instead, Emma turned on Disney Jr. and continued to snuggle with Hope until it was time to get dressed and have breakfast so that they could all get to work and school.
That Friday proceeded pretty normally at first. Emma got the kids off to school and daycare on time, and she managed to track down good old Eddie Einhorn as he was leaving the same East Boston address she'd been staking out the night before.
By 3:30, she was back at the office of Max Cherry Bail Bonds making some calls and finishing paperwork, when her cell phone rang with the caller ID from Hope's day care. She answered hurriedly only to learn that Hope was fine, but very upset. She was refusing to rest at nap time and crying for Emma. They said they would keep trying to calm her down if Emma couldn't make it over early to pick her up, but they wanted to let her know (in other words, they wanted her to come get Hope now.)
Emma agreed that she would head over to pick her up right away.
She stopped into Max's office to update him on her work and let him know she had to go. He was understanding and kind, and it certainly helped that she had already caught a high value skip today. She thanked him, jogged out to her car, and drove as fast as she could to the daycare.
When she arrived, Melanie was harried but apologetic. She said that Hope was extra upset at nap time today, refusing to sleep or even sit quietly, insisting on telling the teachers and other kids that bad things, like "giant purple bugs" and "orange tornadoes" came in dreams. When one of the teachers had tried to pat her arm to soothe her, she'd jerked away and tripped over her little naptime cot, and then she had fallen into a crying fit.
Hope was still sniffling when Emma arrived and wrapped her into her arms, whispering comforting words into her ear and kissing her hair. Emma was near tears herself when she saw the despondent look on her child's face. What had gotten into her head?
Mercifully, Hope took a nap in her carseat on the drive home and appeared to sleep peacefully. Emma knew that insufficient sleep was a huge factor in making kids irritable and emotional, and maybe the meltdown at daycare had been fueled by the little girl's late bedtime and restless sleep. Still, Emma was bothered by Hope's obvious terror of her nightmares. They sounded awful, and she felt helpless in her inability to take them away.
She had texted Henry that she'd be home early, and he was home waiting for them with two cups of hot chocolate and a really sweet idea he'd found on the Internet about how to help Hope. A parenting site had suggested that you and the child make a bright and colorful sign that said "Only Good Dreams Allowed Here" and hang it over the little one's bed.
Hope loved the idea, and she ran to get paper and crayons from her room so that she and Henry could sit at the dining table and make their sign.
"You know," Henry said to Emma,"there are also Native American Dreamcatchers. They're supposed to catch and trap nightmares before they make it into your head or something."
Emma wrinkled her nose. "Flypaper for nightmares," she whispered. Something about that idea bothered her; maybe because Neal had a dreamcatcher when they first met. "I like the sign idea," she told him. "Thanks for thinking of it. You are an all-star big brother. Really, the best around."
He grinned at her and then sat down next to Hope, who had returned with sign-making supplies.
Emma set to the task of preparing dinner, pushing aside that nagging feeling that she still hadn't told Killian that she needed to cancel their date tomorrow night. She knew that she should tell him in person, but any attempt she made to go across the hall when he got home would inevitably met with a request from Hope that they all get to see him. The little girl had already asked when they were going to see Killian again about a dozen times that day. Now, Emma felt stuck.
In the end, she decided to tell a little white lie. After dinner, Henry and Hope settled onto the couch to watch 'Zootopia' for the hundredth time (and Henry didn't complain, he just cuddled up sweetly with his sister.) Emma told them that she'd forgotten to get the mail. Instead, however, she went across the hall and knocked softly on Killian's door.
He was home, and when he answered the door she smelled pasta sauce cooking on the stove. He smiled at her warmly as he greeted her.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner, I won't keep you," Emma said looking past him into the apartment, then at his chest; anywhere but into those astute and mischievous blue eyes of his. She still wasn't sure what she was going to say to blow off their date.
"Nonsense!" he said sincerely. "Can you come in for a moment?"
She nodded and entered. He closed the door behind them.
His apartment was neat but very sparsely decorated, which made sense given that he'd just moved in. She noticed that there didn't seem to be any personal mementos, like family photographs, on his shelves or walls, and that made her sad and even more curious to find out what his story was. It gave her heart a sad little twist to realize that she was there to tell him that they shouldn't spend as much time together.
He offered her a seat on the tiny couch, but she declined, and instead they stood at the end of the entryway, near his small kitchen that was a mirror image of hers (just devoid of sippy straw cups and children's cutlery.)
He seemed to sense that she was stressed. "Is everything all right, Emma? Are the kids okay?"
At his genuine concern, the stress of the day and her lack of sleep the previous night seemed to catch up with her, and she was mortified to feel her eyes stinging with tears. He must have seen her struggling, because he took a half step closer to her and seemed to be considering whether to reach out for her, but she shook her head softly and managed to steel herself.
"Killian," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "I am really happy that we met you. You have been incredibly nice to us, and we've had a lot of fun spending time with you over the past couple of weeks."
His brow furrowed as he listened, and he looked hurt, like he knew there was a "but" coming, but he let her continue to talk.
"It's just that Hope has been having some trouble lately...problems sleeping mostly, and now some issues at school." The crease in his brow deepened with worry, and she felt a pang of affection for him that he should be worried about her little girl too.
"I think that maybe all the changes I've put her through over the past couple of months have caught up with her. She seems...confused about certain things. She's just so little. And I'm worried that if you and I start...something, even if it's just one date..." She trailed off when she saw understanding dawn in his eyes.
"That adding me into the mix on top of everything would just be more upheaval, more strain." He paused thoughtfully and added, "Or perhaps it already has been. I see." He looked down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
She couldn't help it; she reached out and grabbed his hand. It was soft and warm, and the shared touch sent a wave of feeling through her that both squeezed her heart and awakened something low in her belly. He looked back up at her again searchingly.
"I don't mean that I don't want to see you at all, or that we all can't be friends," she went on, her tone firm, but full of underlying emotion. "I just don't want to introduce any more change than I already have. I want to see if I can get her back into a normal routine, if she can start sleeping through the night. Maybe it's an extreme reaction, but I'm just a little scared." Her voice finally broke on the last two words and she had to stop talking.
His eyes were still full of worry and hurt, but he gave her a nod of reassurance. "Emma, you know what is best for her, and you have to do what you think is right. My heart would break if I was the cause of any additional stress or confusion for the young lass."
She smiled and squeezed his hand a little at that, and he squeezed back. God, it was getting hard not to just start crying and collapse into his arms. She knew that he would comfort her. Instead, she nodded, preparing to release his hand and say goodnight, when he spoke again.
"Emma, please, if you need someone to talk to...I know I'm not a parent, and I don't have anything like the knowledge and experience that you have when it comes to caring for your daughter, but I can be here for you. Even if you have to sneak over here again, or perhaps we can meet in the city one day for lunch. I just...you don't have to go through this alone."
Her eyes were close to spilling over with tears now, and she didn't trust herself to speak. She hadn't had any idea how much she'd wanted someone exactly like him in her life until she'd met him, and pushing him away now hurt like hell. She bit her lip to keep from crying, squeezed his hand one more time, nodded, and left.
In the hallway, she took a moment to dab at her eyes and gather herself, and then quietly returned to her family.
That night, Hope didn't cry out enough to wake Emma, although the next morning Henry said that he heard her whimpering in her sleep and that she had thrashed around for a few minutes. When he was telling Emma this, he seemed to start to add something else to his recollection but then checked himself and stopped.
Saturday passed relatively uneventfully, full of playtime with Hope, chores, and errands. Hope did ask about Killian about 37 times, by Emma's conservative estimate. She didn't refer to him as the "D" word again; she just wanted to know if he could come over to play, or to read another story, or to have lunch with her, or to have some ice cream...
Each time, Emma put her off, explaining that Killian was probably busy and that being friends with someone didn't mean that you had to see them every single day. Hope didn't seem to buy that, and she pouted off and on throughout the day, only perking up when Emma took them out to a nearby park where Henry pushed her as high as she could go on a swing.
Back at home, Emma tried not to look at the clock as the evening passed, thinking about how she almost had been sitting in a quiet restaurant talking to a kind, funny, and spectacularly understanding man with piercing blue eyes. Instead, she focused on her kids. After dinner, Hope seemed to finally resign herself that they weren't going to see their new best friend today, and she settled down for their nighttime routine. Emma genuinely enjoyed giving Hope a bath, reading her a couple of stories, and snuggling with her at bedtime as she prayed to whatever deity would listen for another relatively peaceful night for the little girl.
Killian couldn't stay home. As he had looked in his fridge and perused delivery menus on the Internet, it became increasingly clear that he needed to get out of his dull, stuffy apartment and get his mind off of the people across the hall and the date that he wasn't on with Emma Swan. So he put on his boots, grabbed his black leather jacket, and headed out into the night to find the nearest and darkest bar.
He wasn't angry with Emma for cancelling on him, nor was he really even hurt that she thought he might be part of the upheaval that was causing Hope's troubles. She had to do everything in her power to try to ease the little girl's mind. He could see the deep, primal love Emma felt for that child, and he could even relate to it; because in just the short time he'd known the family, he was starting to love Hope too.
He turned this thought over in his head as he found a local bar on Commonwealth Avenue and settled onto a bar stool. The place was one of those joints that was trying to seem like a dive bar in order to appeal to hipsters' sense of what was cool, but of course it still carried the craft beer that they liked. Killian scanned the taps but ended up ordering his old standby on a lonely night: rum, neat.
As he drank, he wondered, why had Emma and her family taken such a strong and immediate hold on his heart? He had never been one to dream about having children of his own. Most of his relationships over the past ten years had been with women who were like him, living on the fringes of respectable society, doing what they wanted and leaving when they were done.
He'd once believed himself to have been in love, but it was with a married woman who already had a child. There was a time when he had envisioned having a family with her, or even taking in her son if she could get custody from her estranged husband. As it happened, though, she left him, and he never yearned for any kind of family again. He figured that, after his brother died, and after his own accident and discharge from the military, that kind of normal life just wasn't in the cards for him.
In the last couple of weeks, however, the magnificent Emma Swan and her enchanting children had changed his entire outlook. He had gotten a glimpse of what it would be like to live with purpose; to have his true north be to love and protect a family, and to make them happy. Despite only having known them a short time, he had never experienced anything so fulfilling in all of his life.
But now, as he sat alone in the dank bar, he realized that the last two weeks might just have been a tease. Part of him hated that he was wallowing in his disappointment and on the verge of despair. After all, Emma had said that they could all still try to be friends. But he knew that she would do whatever it took to protect her children, and if she had done that all these years without him in their lives, she could easily continue to do it without him.
As the night progressed, he ordered a couple more drinks and nursed them as he tried to pay attention to the baseball game on the TV above the bar. Around 10 o'clock, two women sidled up to him and asked if he was waiting for a friend. They were clearly hitting on him, and when he said that he wasn't waiting for anyone, they didn't seem discouraged and continued to hint that they both would keep him company if he bought them drinks. In the past, he might have obliged, but tonight, he found their vapid flirting and overdone hair and makeup to be extraordinarily off-putting. In order to extricate himself from the situation politely, he ordered them their drinks, paid for them, and then quietly left the bar after throwing back the dregs of his fourth glass of rum.
He walked straight home, figuring that he'd drank enough to help him fall asleep at least. As he entered the building and headed to the staircase, he heard the familiar click of Mrs. Xavier's door lock. She stuck her head out of her door as he turned to look at her.
He was caught again, he thought, as she sized him up, no doubt seeing his rumpled clothes (he hadn't bothered to change out of jeans and an old t-shirt before going out) and bleary eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Jones, how are you?" She asked him. Her voice was like a croak and sounded as if she hadn't spoken to anyone else all day.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Xavier. Thank you for asking. How are you? Is there anything I can do for you?"
He guessed that she was probably just lonely, but he always thought that it couldn't hurt to ask the old woman whether she needed help with anything, like chores or groceries.
"Oh, you're too sweet," she replied. "But I'm just fine. In fact, I thought you might be spending time helping Miss Swan and her family this weekend. You all seemed to be getting on so well, and you must be such a help to her."
"No, not tonight. I'm sure she and the kids are fine, though."
Mrs. Xavier smiled strangely, "Yes, I am too. Well, I won't keep you. Goodnight, Mr. Jones." And she shut the door.
Killian was surprised. It was weird that she would let him out of a conversation so easily, but he would take small favors where he could get them. He made his way up the stairs, only pausing for a moment to wistfully stare at the Swan family's door and wonder how they were, and went inside to bed.
Although Saturday had passed quietly for Emma, Hope, and Henry, the early morning hours on Sunday were a trial. Emma's bedside table clock read 3:55 AM when she awoke to Hope's cries, and she sprinted into the kids' bedroom to find the now-familiar scene of Henry trying to comfort his terrified sister. This time, when Emma grabbed her and pulled her towards her, Hope's yelling stopped suddenly, and she stared at Emma for a moment with unseeing eyes, her mouth working in some kind of silent, terrified plea. Emma had never been so scared in her life.
"Hope!" she screamed. "Wake up!" She shook her gently, repeating her plea and reminding the girl that she was safe in her room. Finally, after a few breathless seconds that felt like hours, Hope blinked and collapsed into Emma.
"Mom," Henry whispered after a few minutes of silence when they'd all started breathing again. "This is NOT normal. She started yelling in her sleep, and I swear, the stuff on her shelves was shaking!"
"What?" Emma asked him wearily, turning her head towards him and continuing to clutch her daughter to her chest. "Yeah, it's like...like an earthquake or something, but only on her side of the room. I noticed it the other night too. Look, her picture even fell over!" He indicated the family picture on the shelf next to Hope's bed, which was now lying face down in its spot next to the silk butterfly.
"Henry," Emma pleaded. Her son had mostly grown out of the overactive imagination he'd developed in his youth. She didn't need him bringing it back now to add drama to Hope's situation. "You were probably just dreaming, and Hope must have knocked that picture over earlier."
Hope pulled back from Emma for a minute and sniffed. "I didn't do that, Mom. I didn't knock it over."
"Okay, baby, I know. It's okay," Emma replied. She pulled back to look Hope in the eyes. "Sweetheart, I want to help you with these bad dreams. Is there anything that you can remember about what you were dreaming?"
A shadow crossed Hope's features as she attempted to try to remember her dream. "I just...it feels like I'm by myself and I can't find you guys, and then the lady with the bugs comes and they try to take it from me."
"Take what, honey?"
"I don't know," the little girl whined with frustration. "Something. Just something inside of me."
"What does the lady look like?"
"I don't rememberrr..." She paused for a minute and looked over at Henry. "Our sign didn't work, Hen-wy."
"I know. Sorry, kid," he replied sadly.
"That's okay," Hope sniffed.
"Thanks for telling me what you could about your dream, baby," Emma said. "Let's go to mommy's room." She gathered Hope back up in arms and returned with her to her own large bed for the rest of the night. Hope fought sleep for a long time, pleading that she was scared but refusing to tell Emma any more about her dream.
Eventually, they both slept fitfully.
Sunday, they ran into Killian again. Emma supposed that it was bound to happen eventually. Henry was upstairs doing homework, and Emma and Hope were entertaining themselves by doing chalk drawings on the sidewalk when Killian approached, a couple of reusable grocery bags full of food swung over his shoulder.
He looked a little shy when he greeted Emma, like he was unsure whether he should stay to chat or just rush inside. But she was genuinely happy to see him, especially after their harrowing night, and she smiled warmly at him as she said hello.
Hope of course, was thrilled, jumping up from the orange blob she was drawing on the pavement at the foot of the steps and running to greet him with a hug around his knees. He glanced at Emma with worry, but she smiled and shrugged, and so he affectionately reached down to pat the little girl's head in return.
Emma's breath caught in her chest when she saw the wistful expression on his face. She again felt like she was being torn in half; one side terrified of letting this man in too close, too fast; and the other feeling certain that someone who seemed to care about them this much absolutely belonged in their lives.
"Hello, little lass, what are you drawing today?" Killian asked Hope as she pulled away from his legs.
She shrugged a little sadly. "Oh, I don't know," she replied dejectedly. "I wanted it to be an octopus but it doesn't look like one."
"An orange octopus is a fine idea," he said excitedly, glancing again for approval at Emma, as he placed his bags down on the pavement and knelt beside Hope's blob-like chalk drawing. He picked up the orange piece of chalk from the ground and began to add eight arms, somehow quickly converting Hope's creation into a more than passable octopus shape. Hope broke into a broad grin as she watched him work.
"And what color spots should our octopus have, Lady Hope?"
"Purple and blue!" She cried happily, seeing their creation come together. With flourish, Killian picked out the purple and blue chalk pieces and presented to them to her. She continued to grin as she took the purple piece and proceeded to draw vaguely circular-shaped spots on the octopus, and he did the same with the blue.
Emma's heart swelled as she watched them. He was just such a damn natural with Hope, and she felt guilt twist in her gut at the way her usual instincts and habits had driven her to push him away.
Killian completed their chalk art by drawing a goofy smiley face on the head of the octopus, and Hope clapped her hands together in delight. He finished by scrawling his initials next to it and guiding Hope's hand so that she could do the same.
He beamed at the little girl as she went over to Emma, still sitting on the steps, took her by the hand, and led her over to get a closer look at the drawing. Emma praised it effusively of course.
Killian then rose to his feet and picked up his grocery bags.
"It was lovely to see you both. Hope, thank you for allowing me to assist you with your creation."
"You're welcome!" Hope replied.
He looked at Emma and said, "Well, I should be getting this stuff upstairs and into the refrigerator. Good evening, Lady Hope. Emma."
"Killian!" Emma called nervously as he turned to go, realizing she had no idea what she was going to say but needing to say something. "It's going to be nice out this week; it's not getting too cold yet," she blurted out. "We'll probably have dinner down here one or two nights. Maybe you could join us?"
He hesitated, and his face was serious as he searched her eyes.
Then, of course, Hope chimed in, "Yes! That's a great (she pronounced it 'gwaaaaaate') idea!"
He looked down at her, broke into a smile, and replied, "That sounds wonderful. I'll see you ladies this week."
That night was mercifully quiet. Emma let Hope sleep in her bed all night, and though Emma woke up to the girl whimpering in the small hours of the morning, Hope did not awaken from her dreams.
On Monday, Emma got a tip on an outstanding skip that meant she'd have to do another stakeout that night. Her plan to rush through Hope's daycare pickup routine so that she could get home, get the kids a quick dinner and change before going out again was derailed when the daycare director asked to see Emma in her office before she left.
After Emma had been seated in the director's office, the woman kindly and diplomatically suggested that some parents found it helpful to see a child psychologist to address severe sleep and behavior issues. She said that she would email Emma a list of recommended specialists.
Emma's heart sunk when the director used the word "severe." She was really trying to be optimistic and hope that her daughter's issues would improve on their own, but the outside opinion was sobering. She thanked the director and left, agreeing to consider calling one of the psychologists if Hope's nightmares did not abate.
She continued to think about it as she sat in her dark car in Somerville, watching the dive-y bar her skip supposedly frequented and hoping that he showed up soon. Hope had done better last night, and despite the daycare director's concern, they hadn't mentioned any new issues at school today. Still, Hope referring to Killian as "Daddy" nagged at her. Emma wanted to find a way to have him in their lives without confusing Hope, and maybe an outside specialist could help her find the best way to do that.
As it turned out, Emma was successful in tracking down her target that night, but it meant that she didn't get home until after two. Thankfully, the kids were sleeping peacefully in their room, and Emma went to bed.
She had barely fallen asleep herself when the now sickeningly familiar sounds of Hope's cries came from the kids' bedroom. This time, when Emma went to her side, Hope was screaming, "No, no, don't! Don't hurt him! He's going to fall!"
Emma shook her gently as usual and firmly assured the little girl that she was home safe in bed, and that everyone was okay.
"No, no, no, please don't hurt my daddy!" Hope cried again, wrestling away from Emma's grip.
This time, Emma yelled, begging her daughter to wake up, and grasping her hand even as the girl tried to bat her away. The yelling and hand holding eventually worked, and Hope finally opened her eyes all the way and blinked at Emma. Emma sighed with relief, thinking Hope would calm down now, but instead, she continued to cry out. "Where is he? Where is Daddy? She was going to push him! He was going to fall!"
At this, Henry who was watching from the edge of his bed, groggily breathed, "Mom, what is she talking about?"
Emma ignored him for the moment as she continued to console Hope, "Honey, Henry and I are here. We're fine. Everyone is fine. You were just having a bad dream."
Hope was obstinate. She pulled away from Emma again and stood up on her bed. She stomped her little foot on the bedspread. "No, I wasn't, it was real. She was going to hurt him!" Her words had a hysterical edge that Emma had never heard from her before.
Suddenly, Hope picked up the butterfly from the shelf beside her, gripping its plastic bell jar tightly and throwing it onto the floor in frustration and anger. The jar hit the floor so hard that the plastic part separated from its wooden base.
Emma continued to plead with Hope, insisting that everyone was okay, and that it was just a dream. But the little girl kept fighting her and batting away Emma's hands before finally collapsing onto the bed in a mess of frightened sobs, fat tears streaming down her little round cheeks.
Finally, Emma couldn't take it any more. "Henry," she said softly as she snuggled Hope to her chest and rubbed her back as she cried. "Can you go across the hall and get Killian?"
"What?" he replied. "Why?"
"Just, please go get him. I know he'll be asleep. Just pound hard on the door. He'll come with you."
He nodded and left the room. Emma continued to soothe Hope as best she could, but she knew that the only thing that was going to make her feel better was to see for herself that the man across the hall was unhurt.
It couldn't have been more than two or three minutes later that Killian burst into the room, clad in navy blue and white plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. His hair was rumpled, and he wore no brace, and Emma felt a quick pang of guilt for forcing him out of bed in such a vulnerable state.
Standing there in the doorway, he didn't seem to be self-conscious, but there was fear and worry in his eyes as he focused on what must have been the pitiful sight of Hope and Emma sitting on the bed before him. As Emma looked at him, she could only imagine the mix of terror and gratitude on her face. He took a few steps towards them and knelt down.
"Little love, what is this I hear about another bad dream?" His voice was rough but admirably cheerful for three in the morning or whatever it was.
Hope's sobs paused as she pulled her head away from Emma's chest. She looked at Killian for a beat, seeming to take him in, making sure he was whole, and then she leapt into his arms.
The strength of her embrace set him off balance a little, but he quickly regained it, settling back on one knee as he threw his arms around her in return.
Hope continued to sob, but this time it seemed to be with relief. "I th-th-thought you fell. She pushed you!" She stammered.
"Nobody pushed me, love," he soothed. "I'm just fine. I'm right here." He rubbed her back as she sat on his bent knee and cried, her face buried in his neck.
Emma didn't know what to say. She didn't understand why her daughter had such a visceral, emotional fear of harm coming to this man, but she couldn't question what was right in front her. Hope's terror was as real as it could be.
Henry just started at them agape, occasionally looking back to Emma for some kind of clarification, but when he met her eyes, she just shook her head as if to say, "later."
After a few minutes, Hope's sobbing started to subside, and Emma realized that Killian had to be uncomfortable holding the little girl while kneeling on the floor.
"Hope, sweetie, let's get you over to my room so that Henry can go back to sleep," Emma said, placing her hand on Hope's back.
Hope sniffled, her face still buried in Killian's neck. "Okay, but I want Daddy to carry me."
At that, all the air went out of the room.
"Mommmm, what the -" Henry breathed.
Killian looked up and met Emma's eyes, and she returned his gaze guiltily, knowing he'd realize that it wasn't the first time Hope had referred to him as her father. To his credit, he took it in stride.
"Come on, little lass, let's sail away," he said to Hope as he stood and looked to Emma to lead them out of the room.
Before she did so, Emma took a step toward Henry and patted his head in silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay, but she knew he'd be looking for an explanation soon.
She turned and led Killian across the hall to her bedroom, and he carried Hope to the bed and gently placed her down on the sheets. The little girl showed no signs of releasing the grip she had around his neck, so Killian carefully sat down with her, his right leg bent slightly so that his thigh and knee rested on the bed next to Hope, with his left foot flat on the floor. The little girl cuddled into him sighed.
The whole time, Killian stroked her hair with his hand and gazed at her with such open adoration and concern that Emma couldn't prevent a lump from forming in her throat. After a few minutes, she managed to speak. "I'll just check on Henry and get Hope some water."
Killian nodded, looking up at her with a mixture of worry and determination in his eyes. She mustered a smile, of thanks or reassurance, she wasn't sure which, and he smiled sadly back.
She stopped into the kids' room to tell Henry good night and promised him that they'd talk in the morning; that Hope was obviously going through something, but they were going to figure out a way to deal with it.
Next, she filled up one of Hope's straw cups with water in the kitchen, and headed back to her own room. She knew that she should probably be worried about how Killian would react to this situation. Maybe she should even feel mortified that her child had fixated on him to this extent.
But she wasn't either of those things. Right now, she was just relieved that the terror Hope had been feeling seemed to have abated. She was grateful to Killian for coming to help and not asking questions (yet), but she wasn't the least bit surprised that he had been able to calm Hope so easily.
She wasn't prepared, however, for the wave of emotion that crashed over her when she returned to her room.
Killian and Hope were still snuggled together just as she'd left them, but now the little girl wore a peaceful expression, and Killian was singing to her as she fell asleep.
Oh the morning sun in all its glory
Greets the day with hope and comfort too
You fill my life with laughter
And you can make it better
Ease my troubles, that's what you do
She stood in the doorway and listened to his soft tenor as he sang the song to Hope. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, not just because of the goddamn perfection of the song (she loved that that song), and the relief she felt at seeing her little girl calm and comforted. No, it was more than that. There was something familiar about the tableaux in front of her; the two of them cuddled up like that, his lovely voice in the otherwise quiet room. She felt no sense of awkwardness about having this man she'd met only recently sitting on her bed with her kid.
Emma Swan, who avoided intimacy as much as she could, should have been totally freaked out by this, but instead, it felt perfectly, comfortably, domestic and normal.
She didn't know what to do with that, so she just continued to watch and listen.
When the song was over, it was clear from Hope's breathing that she was asleep. Emma stepped towards the pair of them and placed the water on the nightstand for later. She and Killian worked together to gently peel Hope away from Killian's side and place her down onto Emma's pillow, where she continued to slumber peacefully.
Killian stood, and they wordlessly watched the little girl for a moment. Finally, Emma smoothed back Hope's blonde waves, kissed her forehead, and left the room with Killian at her heels.
He followed her to the kitchen where she quietly pulled two glass tumblers out of the cabinet and set them down on the counter. Then, she rummaged in one of the other high cabinets until she found an old bottle of Bushmill's that she'd had since forever. She poured them each just a finger.
They each picked up a glass and in silent agreement moved to the couch. They both took sips of the whiskey before Emma spoke.
"I really love that song," she told him.
"Aye, me too," he replied. He then added, "Of course I was singing the original, the Van Morrison version, lest you think me schmaltzy or uncool."
She grinned in reply, and her burden eased just a little. "Of course."
"Is it like that every night?" He asked, a clear note of worry in his voice.
"No, not that bad. Usually I can console her. This was the worst yet."
He nodded. "Has she spoken of me before in this state?"
Emma sighed. "Not exactly..."
"But?" he replied, and she felt him studying her face as she looked down at her glass.
She sighed. "It's not the first time that she's referred to you as 'Daddy.' She did the other night, after Henry's presentation. She had a nightmare, and when she woke up she asked if 'Daddy' was still here."
"I see." He paused then added, "Is that why you cancelled our date?"
Emma nodded. "Yeah. Look, she's never done anything like this before. I mean, she's so little...but I always thought she understood that our family was just the three of us, and that it was okay. For whatever reasons, she's fixated on you. I just thought, out of sight-out of mind might be the safest option."
She paused to let him take this in and worried that he'd be completely freaked out by this turn of events.
He must have sensed her worry and embarrassment, because he comforted her, setting his glass on the coffee table so that he could gently take her left hand in his right. She closed her eyes at the contact; she couldn't help it. Once again, the sense that she wasn't alone in this, that she didn't have to be the only grownup fighting for and worried about her daughter, hit her and filled her with relief. Tears sprung to her eyes again.
She didn't have a free hand to dab at her eyes, and he must have noticed her tears, so he released her hand and gently wiped at her eyes with his thumb. She smiled and rolled her eyes a little, "Such a gentleman."
"Always."
"Look, Killian," Emma said firmly, gathering herself. "I just want you to know that I am going to deal with this. I have the numbers of some recommended psychologists from Hope's school. I'm going to take her in to talk to one of them and get some advice about how to get her to stop...fixating on you, I guess, to fill that other parent role she feels like she's missing, or whatever she's doing."
He nodded but seemed to be struggling to think of what to say, and then Emma felt awkward again. She was suddenly very aware that she was sitting there in her pajamas with a tangled bun in her hair and tear-stained cheeks, and that they'd pulled this guy out of bed in the middle of the night because of family drama.
"I should let you get back to bed," she said. "I promise, I will deal with this tomorrow, er, today, and that we won't be pounding on your door in the middle of the night again."
"No, Emma, please, don't worry about that," he replied, meeting her eyes and taking her hand again. "I don't mind at all. I'm just...trying to understand how we got here. I feel like it's my fault, that Hope has this notion in her head, and I'm sorry for the strife it's causing you."
That it should be his fault hadn't even occurred to Emma, and she shook her head fiercely. "No way, Killian, you should NOT feel bad about any of this. You've been an amazing friend to us the last few weeks." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back, sending a little thrill up her arms and spine.
"This is nobody's fault," she said firmly. "It's just a thing that she's going through that I have to deal with."
He nodded. "Okay, but Emma, please know that I will help you in any way that I can. If that means coming over and comforting her when she's scared, I'll do that, no matter the time. And I suppose that if the experts say that I should stay away, I'll do that too." That second option obviously saddened him, because he seemed to struggle to get the last few words out. The forlorn sound of his voice gave Emma's heart a little squeeze.
She nodded slowly, her heart sinking at the idea that the best solution might be for him to keep his distance. Even though she had tried that tactic herself, she knew in her heart that she didn't want him to stay away, but she had to do what was best for Hope if it came to that.
"Well, I should be going," Killian said after another minute of quiet as they both sipped their whiskey.
"Yeah, sorry again for the late night emergency," Emma said ruefully as they both stood.
"Oh, anytime," he joked as they stepped towards the door.
She opened the door, and he opened his mouth to say goodnight but seemed to be struggling with the words. Instead, before he could speak, she stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around his midsection, gently leaning her head against his chest. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her back, his large hand pressed palm down between her shoulder blades. She felt him rest the side of his face against her hair, and she pulled herself against him even closer, emboldened now that he was returning the intimate gesture of comfort.
She felt him reach up and stroke the back of her neck, tickling the loose hairs that had come out from her messy knot. Suddenly, she was very conscious that the clothing separating them was quite thin. She wore a sleep tank top under an open cardigan, and her awareness that her breasts were pressed up against his strong chest was instantly arousing.
He must have felt the electricity too, because he took half a step back, breaking some of the contact between them and making sure that their lower halves weren't touching at all. Finally, they disentangled their arms.
Maybe Emma should have been embarrassed at the situation, but she wasn't. It was late, and she was tired, and embracing him had felt as natural as breathing. He stood looking at her with affection in his eyes, and then reached up to stroke her cheek with his knuckles before nodding and saying a final good night. She smiled at him warmly as he left and returned to her room to be with Hope.
Back in his apartment, Killian poured a glass of cold water in the kitchen and took a drink. He stood at the sink and took deep breaths, trying to calm the arousal that the embrace with Emma had awakened in him so that he could focus on trying to make sense of the rest of the evening.
He really didn't mind being called to help them in the middle of the night. He adored that little girl, and he knew that he would do anything for her, and for Emma and Henry.
The strange thing was, when Henry had knocked on Killian's door, he was already awake, having himself just woken up from an odd and frightening dream.
He'd been in a forest, climbing a rocky cliff, the wooded top of which was 30 feet above him as he climbed. When he looked slightly to his left, to the end of his leather-clad left arm, he saw that he wasn't wearing his normal prosthetic with it's small rounded piece of metal on the end, but rather a large, fierce looking hook that was digging into the rock face.
He didn't know where he was or why he was climbing, just that he had to get to the top quickly. Suddenly, he heard the terrified screams of a little girl coming from the top of the cliff, and he knew immediately that they were the cries of Hope Swan. He pushed himself harder and climbed faster, even as his black jeans tore at the knees, and he bloodied his hand by gripping the rock so hard. He just needed, with every fiber of his being, to get to her.
Finally, he reached the top and clambered up over the edge to find the small child in the grip of a purple-clad woman whose back was to him. In his peripheral vision, he sensed movement in the surrounding woods and heard a low buzzing. Something sinister was in there, watching them and waiting.
Hope cried out when she saw him, "Daddy!"
"Let her go!" he cried, starting to approach them.
Then, the woman turned. He had no sense of her facial features other than an expression of hate and cold, purposeful want. However, he did see her eyes, which glowed yellow-orange as she stared at him. She kept one pale, gnarled and grayish hand on Hope's arm, while raising the other and sending a blast of energy at him that pushed him back towards the cliff he had just climbed.
Hope screamed and cried in terror as he stumbled back towards the edge of the cliff, falling down and grabbing a stray tree root to prevent himself from falling.
Hope was screaming, "No, no, don't! Don't hurt him! He's going to fall!" It broke his heart to hear the terror in her voice. He continued to clutch for purpose, but the tree root pulled free against the force from the woman's power, and he began to slide over the edge.
"No, no, no, please don't hurt my daddy!" Hope sobbed, and he tried to cry out to her, but no words came out as he began to fall.
He had awakened in a cold sweat, his heart racing. He had struggled to calm his breathing even as he dissected the events of the dream. He had been terrified for Hope in his dream, and he wondered, not for the first time, what had awakened this deep and desperate sense of protectiveness that he felt for her. Finally, he admitted to himself that it probably was connected to the other aspect of his dream that he knew he would remember for a long time to come.
For in his dream, he had known, just as surely as he had known his own name, that Hope Swan was his daughter, and that he was her daddy.
But it had been just a dream.